


Making Waves

by Sanalith



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-02 08:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanalith/pseuds/Sanalith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Putting Shindou and Touya in a car together for four hours is bound to cause trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Waves

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you can get the full effect of the (I hope) humor of the fic, here are some Japanese music terms you might not know:
> 
>  **Visual Kei** : The Japanese equivalent of glam rock – elaborate costumes and sets, lots of wild stunts, and some of the best make-up you’ll ever see. Male performers often tend to cross-dress as women. It can sometimes be more shouting than singing, but some of the songs are absolutely beautiful.
> 
>  **Enka:** Extremely traditional Japanese music, mainly performed in kimono and accompanied by a shamisen (a sort of guitar/banjo combo with three strings that produces extremely unique and lovely sounds). Enka singing can sometimes sound like warbling because of the heavy vibrato employed, making it an acquired taste, but you’ll never *ever* hear anything like it. It is slowly becoming more popular among younger fans, but it is still generally seen as a genre for older adults.
> 
>  **Takarazuka:** An all-female theatre troupe that performs both western and original musicals. The shows include extremely elaborate sets and costumes, and often end with very lavish and (sometimes) incomprehensible revues. Significantly more women than men are fans of the revue, mainly because it is one of the few theatre troupes where all roles are played by females.

Years later, neither would be able to remember exactly whose fault it was. Akira continued to blame Hikaru, and, knowing his penchant for impulsive decisions, the blond tended to agree. However, he never failed to point out that Akira had certainly not protested, had in fact quite readily agreed, and therefore the blame ought to be equally distributed. Akira often grumbled about this, but he could find no argument.

   
After all, the idea had sounded innocent enough.

   
A Go convention was taking place about four hours from Tokyo, and both Hikaru and Akira were requested to attend. Knowing how much the two young pros hated the spotlight (or at least hated it when they weren’t glaring at each other from across a board), they had been assured that they would not be required to give lectures or tutoring sessions. They would be simple observers, merely lending their names and faces to the crowd…and to any reporters who happened to be snapping photos.

   
“We should go,” Akira said on a sigh, annoyance at yet again being the Go Institute’s poster boy warring with his innate good breeding and sense of duty. “It probably won’t be that bad.”

   
Hikaru had merely grunted, but Akira had rubbed off on him slightly over the past few years, and after all, it _was_ Go. Perhaps it wouldn’t be horrid.

   
Somehow, some way – they were never able to fully recall how – they got it into their heads that, instead of taking the train along with the other participants and attendees from Tokyo, they should drive themselves. It would keep them away from Ochi’s sullenness, Waya’s annoying prattle, and Ogata’s cigarettes.

   
It would also force them to be in close quarters for more than ten minutes since _it_ had happened, and, despite reservations on both sides, they both knew it was high time they talked about it.

   
A kiss had to mean something, after all, even if it was rather wet and sloppy and not at all romantic. Even if it had led to red cheeks and stammered apologies and much backing away quickly out of the room. It would be impossible to run from the car, after all.

   
The idea was agreed upon, and the morning of the convention, they packed themselves into Akira’s silver Toyota (his one condition being that they used _his_ vehicle for the trip, as the rust bucket Hikaru insisted on calling a car did nothing for Akira’s nerves), double-checked they had a map handy, and sped off into the busy streets.

   
The first hour was spent in companionable conversation about Go in general and their expectations for the convention in particular. Both were hoping to see some of their upcoming opponents in action, and the program looked appealing for the most part.

   
The second hour was much more tense, as they haltingly focused on the true reason for the car drive – their suddenly obvious (and very non-Go-related) feelings for one another. No absolute progress was made, though Hikaru promised not to break any more of the Touya family’s good china by stumbling backwards into tables containing antique vases, and Akira agreed to work on his timing and at least give _some_ warning before shoving his rival up against a wall. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start, and that had to be worth something.

   
The third and fourth hours were…well, there was a reason they were supposed to hate one another, wasn’t there?

   
Having gotten the embarrassing subject of their almost-relationship out of the way, Akira proposed to lighten the mood by turning on the radio. Hikaru agreed with a sigh of relief. It would be good not to have to talk for a little while. Being two hours away from the home of his pre-set stations, Akira had to fumble a bit to find a station that would play more music than static. Classical arias finally blared through the speakers, and he smiled in relief, only to hear Hikaru give a yelp of what sounded like pain.

   
“What are you _doing_? Hurry up and change it!”

   
Akira blinked. “Why? It’s music, isn’t it? Not static___”

   
“It’s _classical_!” Hikaru interrupted, as if that said it all. “Static would be better! Now hurry up and _change_ it!”

   
Rather surprised at the vehement response, but, based on their earlier discussion, in the mood to cut Hikaru some slack, he obediently turned the dial. The next available station came alive with crashing drums, ear-piercing synthesizers, and growling voices. Akira made a face – Visual Kei was the one of the banes of his existence – but before he could reach for the dial again, he heard the other boy give a sigh of contentment.

   
“There, perfect!” Hikaru proclaimed with a smile. “Hopefully this one will stay clear until we reach the convention.”

   
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Akira retorted, his eyes narrowing. “There’s no way I’m sitting through this trash for the next two hours.” Purposefully, he turned the radio dial again.

   
“Hey! Come on, that was a good song!” Hikaru whined. “Touya, _honestly_!”

   
And so it went back and forth for the next twenty minutes. Soft rock. Punk. Traditional. Rap. Any station that met with Akira’s approval was sourly rejected by Hikaru, and anything Hikaru liked was firmly vetoed by Akira. Hikaru got so annoyed as to reach out and begin turning the dial himself, only to be met with a stinging slap to his wrist.

   
“I am driving this car, Shindou, and don’t you _ever_ touch my controls again!”

   
Duly chastised, but no less willing to give up the battle of the bands, Hikaru resorted to complaining loudly whenever his rival found a station he didn’t like.

   
Rather desperately, realizing that his simple suggestion of “relaxation” was turning into a war of epic proportions, Akira suggested that Hikaru look through the glove compartment to see if there were any CDs he might be able to tolerate. Hikaru did as he was asked, though Akira was rewarded for his troubles only with guffaws of laughter and disbelieving pronouncements.

   
“Please tell me you don’t actually _like_ Enka!” he pleaded. “That’s music for old ladies!”

   
“American country? Dear God, Touya, who picked these out for you? The same person who buys your pink shirts?”

   
“ _Showtunes_??? And nothing good, either! You could at least have _Phantom of the Opera_ or something. And is this _Takarazuka_???? Touya, you really _are_ a woman!”

   
Eventually, they spent the remainder of the trip in silence, with Hikaru occasionally trying to surreptitiously turn on the radio and tune it to a station of his liking, but Akira continued to swat his hands away and give him the Look that made his lesser opponents resign in five minutes flat. All together, they arrived at the convention hotel annoyed and out of breath from yelling, and were quite happy to take their room keys and flounce off to their separate beds.

   
One does not label another as his eternal rival without cause, however, and, after much brooding and contemplation, midnight saw Akira knocking lightly on Hikaru’s door. The blond poked his head out suspiciously, as though he expected some sort of attack, but when he saw that Akira had brought nothing more threatening than a folded Go board and two bags of stones, he opened the door wider.

   
As they knelt down and positioned themselves before the board, Hikaru asked, in a rare moment of seriousness, “Do you think we’ll ever agree on _anything_?” He paused. “I mean, other than Go.”

   
“Of course not,” Akira replied briskly, handing his opponent the bag of white stones. “Why? Are you saying you would want to?”

   
Hikaru laughed before he could stop himself, the strange tightness in his chest easing before he’d even truly noticed it was there. _I guess it’ll take more than a disagreement over music to stop this, won’t it?_ “No, I suppose not. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it?”

   
Akira smiled. Nothing between the two of them was easy. That was the whole point, after all. What kind of rivals would they be if it were?

   
Inherently silent was the real point. By agreeing to disagree, they’d already agreed on the only thing that really mattered.

   
“Come on. Let’s play.”


End file.
